


The Healer's Shadow

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Numb Fingered Healer [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Archangels, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), M/M, Mentioned Gabriel (Good Omens), Mentioned Sandalphon (Good Omens), Other, Pandemics, The Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: "Humanity didn't create the Horsepeople," Crowley says, idly turning his glass of wine in long fingers. Light reflects off it in snatches, flickering as red as the wine across the floor and the book-covered walls. "They were always there, just - before the Fall they were under control, see."
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Pestilence (Good Omens), Death & Famine & Pestilence & Pollution & War (Good Omens)
Series: Numb Fingered Healer [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690777
Comments: 11
Kudos: 215
Collections: Wickedly Good Omens Fics





	The Healer's Shadow

"Humanity didn't create the Horsepeople," Crowley says, idly turning his glass of wine in long fingers. Light reflects off it in snatches, flickering as red as the wine across the floor and the book-covered walls. "They were always there, just - before the Fall they were under control, see."

Aziraphale blinks at him with interest. "Oh?"

"They're kinda like - like - like shadows. Archangel shadows, right? Got to be balance, so the Archangels represent a big thing, but you can't have their big things without something to make the big thing out of, so there's this - darker shadow - that comes with them."

"No shadows in Heaven, dear, only reflections," Aziraphale opines.

"Yeah, angel, I noticed. Guess they don't want to be reminded. Y'know, after.... after Raphael Fell for - asking why humans had to suffer. It's too risky to remind anyone else that their incompetence is making humanity suffer." Crowley grimaces, drains his glass, and refills it. "Chaos wound up thoroughly diluted when Gabriel took up bureaucracy, before the Horsepeople all got famous. Just a dab in everyone, though I think there was a lot of him in Adam... Death's got a free rein because no one is even trying to contain him, so he's - everywhere. All Lucifer's light and life gone dark and twisted. Pestilence - I'm trying, angel, I really am, but..." He buries his face in his free hand, and squeezes his burning eyes shut. He isn't an angel any more, hasn't been for 6,000 years, and it's hard, holding on with only memories to go by. Healing as a demon is like picking things up with numb fingers. He just doesn't have the right senses for it anymore, even when he does heal things. And yet, throughout history, whenever he wants to give up, something like the fourteenth century happens, and the Black Death. Take a nap and then get too busy dealing with the disaster of the First World War to think of countermeasures - and Pestilence sneaks back in with the Influenza pandemic. Over-focus on the Apoca-oops and, well, here we go again.

Aziraphale rests a soft hand on his shoulder. "Yes, dear, you're a very trying demon," he says, clearly attempting to reassure.

It doesn't reassure, but Crowley unfolds himself anyway, to stare with bleakly haunted eyes. "Takes so much, and I don't know if I have enough left, after everything. But anyway. The point is - point is, all the Archangels have or had one. Uriel makes beautiful things. Pollution thinks their creations are beautiful too. Michael, well, what use is an army without War giving it something to do? And Sandalphon..."

"Pillars of salt, I remember."

"Yeah, and if- if you salt the fields so nothing can grow, of course you get Famine afterwards. The destruction and the hunger is the entire point. He always was a vicious little sod." Crowley drains his wine, sets the glass down and folds his arms in against his body. "Then again, if his purpose is destruction, it only makes sense for him to be like that. And if his boss approves, he doesn't even have that encouragement to rein in his instincts."

Aziraphale huffs and silently moves his hand up to card his fingers through Crowley's hair, soothing and protecting at the same time.

"There you go again, angel, being the protective guardian you're made to be." Crowley grates out a painful sounding laugh. "Every angel was built with a purpose, right, and a need to fulfil it?"

Aziraphale nods, and keeps his fingers moving.

Crowley's arms fold even tighter against his body, shoulders hunched. "That need... it doesn't go away when you Fall. Everything else, yeah, you lose that, but not the need. Most of them, it's easy to fulfil even as a demon. Used to make things? Sure, go make torture tools, or filing cabinets or whatever. Used to be soldier? No one even notices when you hit someone. Ignited stars? Plenty of things to light on fire in Hell too. Me, I-" He breaks off, shaking his head even as a muscle spasms in his jaw. "Nothing that's acceptable."

Aziraphale gathers him into his arms. "I thought you were on the star teams, dearest demon-mine?"

"Mm, ngk, yeah, s'wot I told Hell." Crowley buries his head in his angel's shoulder. "And I did, you know, help on them, mostly with the nebulas 'cause there ain't that much difference between midwifing a star and midwifing a corporation or a creature. An' I was interested, and there wasn't much to do on the Healing wards so I-" He shuts his mouth with a snap and goes painfully still.

"Ohhhh, you were one of Raphael's assistants then?"

"I - I was a Healer, yeah. But not - not-"

Aziraphale freezes. "You were... Oh my G- Earth. You're..."

"I'm Anthony J. Crowley. That's all I am now. Doesn't matter who I _was_ , 'm not them anymore. But yeah, Pestilence is my old shadow. That makes all of this my fault in a way. 'M sorry, I'm trying to pull him back, but it really takes an angel's power and I can only fake that so much."

"Well, that's simple enough, now we're on the same side."

Crowley lifts his head. "Oh, no, angel. Nonononono, I'm not using yours. I am not draining you to make me feel better. That's, uh, counterproductive."

"Oh, well. I have to do something, dearest. That's my instincts, you know, always tip top for that."

"Just hold me, would you? Hold me and remind me... I don't know."

"That I can do." Aziraphale holds him closer, soft, wide arms wound around him with that hidden strength. "We have to let the lovely clever humans find their way, dear. We can't carry them, but I can carry you."

Crowley tucks his head under Aziraphale's lovely double chin, and breathes in his scent, and holds on. Someday, maybe, he hopes he won't need reminding. Someday the humans, lovely clever humans, will invent a cure for everything Pestilence can throw at them. But for now... for now, he is secure in his angel's arms, and that will have to do.


End file.
